


Room Service

by headrush100



Category: Castle
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, F/M, Fingerfucking, Handcuffs, Hotel Sex, Kink, Sex Toys, Smut, Temperature Play, hot wax, snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headrush100/pseuds/headrush100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feeling badly after fighting with Castle, Beckett goes to visit him while he’s on a book tour. There’s a snowstorm, candles, and a whole lot of smut. Prompt fic, written for thetruthbetween's prompts: fire, hunger, the sound she makes when she throws her head back".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Service

She blurts it out the second the door opens, before he can speak or register anything other than a blank look of surprise that she’s shown up at his hotel room in Chicago at six o’clock in the evening.

“I’m sorry, Rick.” He’s just standing there _looking_ at her, so she says it again. “I’m so sorry.”

His shoulders drop, and he reaches out to gather her into his arms. She drops her carry-on bag and hurls herself against him with a force that rocks him back a couple of steps. He laughs, resting his chin on top of her head. “Me too,” he says, softly. She can hear him smiling as he says it.

She relaxes into his warmth and strength, and indulges in the sheer pleasure of being held by him. She can have that whenever she needs it, now.

He pulls back, frowning. “You’re shivering.”

She nods. “I had to wait an hour for a taxi at O’Hare.”

“You stood outside for an _hour?_ ” He looks horrified. “It must be minus ten out there!” 

“It is.” She hugs him tighter.

“Is everything all right? Not that I’m not deliriously happy to see you, but...”

This is the moment she’s been planning for, the moment she’s been picturing all day, and now that it’s come, she feels a little nervous. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am about that stupid fight, and...” she takes a breath. “Well, because I know you don’t get much chance to relax when you’re on a book tour, I thought you might be hungry. So I brought you some _room service_.”

And with that, she unbuttons her overcoat and shows him what she has, and has not, got on underneath. His expression says it all.

“I am... hungry,” he says, his attention very much focused elsewhere. Until his eyes bore into hers. “Please tell me you weren’t standing outside for an hour like _this._ ”

She smiles. “No, I changed in the ladies’ room downstairs. I was frozen by then anyway.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but I’m going to get _you_ some room service first.” He retrieves a beautifully embossed room service menu from the side table, and picks up the phone. “Hi there. It’s Bruce Wayne in room seven-fifteen.” 

She cracks up. He grins.

“Yes, could you please send up some hot tea and...” he waves the menu at her.

“Mac and cheese.”

“Macaroni and cheese. And strawberries.” He listens. “Yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you.” He hangs up.

“Strawberries?”

He grins, and gestures around them. “Just because we can.”

She takes in the room, with its overstuffed armchairs, plush carpeting, elegant writing desk – less elegant with all his techie toys and wires all over it – and against the far wall, a fireplace. Everything from the discreet heating vents to the scrolls and swirls in the ceiling plaster scream expensive good taste. He’s right. This place is decadent. Only a publisher with supreme faith in their author would pay out for something like this. When her friend Ellie went on _her_ first book tour, the publishers put her up in a Motel 6 in Scranton. They still made a party of it and had a great time.

He tries to take her overcoat off, but she hangs on.

“That cold, huh?” he says.

She nods.

“Well then, there’s only one thing to do.” He steers her to the opulent, cheerful bathroom, allows her a few seconds to marvel at the size of the hot tub, and murmurs sternly into her ear, _“Strip.”_

Goosebumps that have nothing to do with being cold run up the back of her neck. 

He turns on the hot water, grabs a complimentary bottle of something from a dish on the side, reads the label, appears none the wiser, but shrugs and dumps the contents into the steaming water. It smells amazing, just the right combination of florals and herbs to soothe and warm.

He shuts the door to keep the heat in, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. She watches. He sees her watching, and grins. Naked, he climbs into the tub and slides in with a blissful sigh. 

She can’t stand it a minute longer. She lets the overcoat drop, and allows him to help her over the side, and in.

“This is amazing,” he says, just as she’s about to sit down. “And the fact that I’ve been too busy to bathe for the past three days makes it all the – ”

“Castle!”

He laughs, and moves over to sit behind her. “Lean back against me.”

She does, and he proceeds to gently but very thoroughly scrub, shampoo, and massage the grime of the precinct, the flight, and the stress of the day into nothing but a rapidly fading memory. 

“We have about eleven hours till I need to be back at work,” she mutters, hating even to mention the real world in this cozy cocoon they’ve made.

He points a soapy finger at the window, where snow is building up against the glass. “Oh, I think we may have a little longer than that.” 

She sits upright, trying to see out the window, stiffening as she pictures herself phoning in an excuse to work at 8am.

“Hey.”

Firm hands on her shoulders bring her back against him, and his arms wrap around her chest, holding her there. His warmth radiates into her, chasing away the chills. It’s so good. She moans a little, and he laughs softly.

“Relax,” he says. “Forget it. You’re with the bestselling, award-winning author Richard Castle. No one spins a better yarn than me. I’ll make the call for you.” 

“No, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, then they’ll know we had sex.”

He laughs. “Phoning someone in sick doesn’t automatically translate to having had sex with them before they succumbed. Anyway, you don’t think they’ve got that already?”

“I guess so.” Her brow furrows.

He sighs. “I can see I’m going to have to be firm with you tonight. Pun intended.”

She grins, and evilly slips a hand down and round the back to tease him. His breath catches, his anticipation obvious. He stands up and gets out of the tub, quickly wrapping one of the eight million thread count bath sheets around his waist. 

“I’m going to go get a few things ready.” His voice is serious, his eyes a little less so. “Prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I’m going to make this trip worth your while.”

“You already have.”

He comes back in, crouches by the bath, cradles her jaw in his hands, and kisses her hard and deep. When he pulls away, she’s a little dazed, but doesn’t miss the huge grin on his face as he goes out the door.

She’s just got out of the tub and started drying herself with the most luxurious towel she has ever had the privilege of using when bathroom door opens a crack and his arm appears, proffering his flannel pyjamas.

“Put them on.”

“But they’re yours.”

“They’re clean.”

“This isn’t exactly the seduction-wear I had planned.” 

“It’s the seduction-wear that has the added benefit of warding off pneumonia. Besides, when have you ever had any trouble seducing me?” 

Can’t argue with that. “I know, but – ”

“Beckett, it’s sexy when you wear my clothes, and it’s going to be even sexier when I take them off you,” he says, in an authoritative tone that goes straight between her legs.

Well, when he put it like that. “Okay.” She takes them. They’re incredibly soft and warm and _him_. 

When she emerges from the sauna-like atmosphere of the bathroom, the suite is much dimmer than before. He’s changed into a t-shirt and her favorite blue plaid flannel pyjama trousers. He laughs when he sees her shuffling along in his pyjamas like a five year old. He sits her down and rolls the trouser cuffs up a good five inches. 

Soft lighting, a little background music, and some fine porcelain and silverware accompany their macaroni and cheese. The lights of the city spread out before them, twinkling through the falling snow. She can’t think of any place she’d rather be stranded.

Clean and fed, their hunger takes a different form.

“Did you go to the airport directly from work?” he says.

“Yeah.”

He looks at her steadily. “Bring me your handcuffs.”

She almost moans in anticipation. It’s going to be like _that._ She obeys. Handing them over, she says, “Are you still angry with me, Rick?”

His eyes are warm. “No. I would never punish you like that.”

She nods. “I know.” But still it’s good to hear it. She gestures to her bag. “I brought a few things with me, if you’re interested.”

Amusement and curiosity flares in his eyes, and he wastes no time in opening it. He roots around, stops, and looks up. “Really?”

She smiles.

“I’m not even gonna ask what you told airport security.”

“It wasn’t the whole truth.”

“I would hope not.”

“Anyway.”

He grins wolfishly, and pulls her into his arms. “Anyway.” He lays claim to her mouth with aggressive kisses, his tongue pushing in, and soon his hands are roaming under her pyjama jacket. She’s getting incredibly turned on, but has to laugh at the same time. That is, until he bends to sweep her knees from under her, and carries her into the bedroom.

The bed is vast and heavenly.

“Stay there,” he commands, like wild horses could drag her away, and disappears for a moment only to return with her bag, which he sets on a nearby chair.

The first thing he does is go to the wardrobe and pull out one of his silk ties. This is going to be good.

He returns to her side, and she lifts her head submissively to let him blindfold her. The material is cool and smooth against her skin, her remaining senses more acute.

He starts undoing her jacket buttons. As the material falls open bit by bit, he kisses her, from collarbone to navel. He cups a breast, thumb playing over her nipple, latching on for a quick suck. She arches up, pressing herself deeper into his mouth, muffling his sounds of pleasure. Her hips thrust uselessly, and he pulls back with a needy sigh.

He lays her jacket wide open and touches her newly exposed stomach with the back of his hand. “Are you still feeling chilled?”

“No, hardly at all.”

She’s lying there blindfolded and bare-chested, in his pyjama bottoms. It’s different, but it’s definitely working for her.

“I can adjust the thermostat.”

“I’m okay for now.”

“That’s good,” he breathes, “because God, Kate, you look amazing.”

She hears a match strike, and starts a little in uncertainty and anticipation. This is something they’ve talked about, but never done. She tries to push herself up and remove the blindfold, but his hand comes down solidly on her breastbone. It doesn’t hurt, but the message is clear.

He kisses her forehead, whispering, “I’m going to restrain you for this.” 

She shivers.

“Hands above your head, beautiful,” he says.

He takes firm hold of her left wrist, guiding it till her fingers touch the iron scrollwork on the headboard, then repeats the procedure with her right. Cool steel ratchets round one wrist, clanks as it goes round the iron railing, and ratchets round the other one. Her heart starts beating faster in anticipation.

“I think I’ve been cuffed with these more times than my suspects.”

“They look better on you.”

She smiles. “They look pretty good on you, too.”

He laughs softly. “Patience, sweetheart.”

She hears him open a door – the minibar? – and there follows a cracking sound. He comes back over, pauses, hisses as though he’s in pain, and then his weight settles against her hip.

“Okay, Kate. This is gonna hurt a little, but it should be good, too. You need to keep still. Don’t be scared. I’ve tested it on myself.”

“What’re you gonna – ”

“You let me worry about what I’m going to do,” he says, gently. “I’m going to hold you down a little. Ready?”

On her tentative nod, his hand comes down on her chest. A moment later, a thin stream of very hot liquid spatters the sensitive skin of her left breast.

She arches up with a cry. It’s incredibly intense; a strange kind of pain that sends a wholly unexpected shock of pleasure between her legs. The conflicting sensations are disorienting, the more so when he immediately runs an ice cube over the superheated area. She hisses, and his mouth closes over the whole thing, lapping heat and ice water alike from her.

“Is it okay? Too much?”

All she can do is breathe, _“More.”_

He suckles all the pain away, until there’s nothing left but pleasure and a warm glow. He kisses all around her neck and chest before taking her mouth again. His hand brushes up and down her ribs in a soothing motion. “Ready for another one?”

She nods.

“That’s my brave girl. Here it comes.”

Directly onto a nipple this time. She hisses again, gritting her teeth and writhing as the heat spirals towards the realm of serious pain. He quickly pins her and applies the ice, sending the intense sensations spiralling off in another direction.

She’s dimly aware of just how hard she’s pulling hard on the cuffs and that it’s going to hurt later, but she needs to touch him, to feel him. _“Rick,”_ she chokes out.

“Shhh. I know. Soon.” He latches onto her abused nipple, suckling at her gently and noisily until she’s keening with need, and he’s making hungry noises of his own. His hand sweeps over the curves of her body, from her ribs, down over her stomach, and into her pyjama bottoms and panties. She spreads her legs, and his thick finger pushes in with confidence and ownership, his palm pressing hard against her clit.

He wiggles his finger deep inside her. “You’re nice and ready for me.”

“I want you,” she blurts, as though any affirmation was needed.

“You’ll have this for now,” he says, working another one in to join the first.

“No, you, I want you _in_ me,” she demands, determined not to give in until she gets what she wants, but he’s pushing and twisting those fingers high up inside her, feeling out her g-spot in a very no-nonsense way. He’s going to make her come whether she likes it or not.

Sure enough, a few seconds later her body betrays her, going rigid as her muscles clamp down on his insistently thrusting fingers. She lets out a cry, and he keeps right on pumping as the world fades out.

After a while, she’s aware that he’s gently examining her breasts. 

“You’re okay, Kate. No harm done, just a little redness.”

She hears a tube click open, and something cool and soothing is rubbed into the sore skin. She sighs with the pleasure of being taken care of.

“That shouldn’t leave any marks,” he says, adding, “Not bad. One down and I haven’t even got your pants off yet.”

“Or yours,” she shoots back.

“How do _you_ know?”

“Well, do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Anyway, yours are coming down a little.”

She senses him leaning over her, and feels his hands on her cuffs. They open, and she brings her arms down, reaching for him blindly. He takes her hands and puts them over her stomach.

“Not so fast,” he says, in that tone that goes straight between her legs. “Turn over.”

“No,” she says, reaching for him again. “I want you in me.”

He replaces her hands. “Do as you’re told.”

“No.”

“If you’re uncooperative, I’ll have to resort to other methods.”

She shakes her head.

“Make it easy on yourself, Beckett.”

“You know I never do that.”

With what sounds like a rueful sigh, he says, “True enough.” Without hesitation, his hands come down on her, and she’s flipped onto her stomach. She tries to get up, but he pins her and takes hold of her wrists. Seconds later, she’s roughly cuffed, exactly as they both know she wants.

He pushes the pyjama jacket high up across her shoulders, so that most of her back is available to him. She shivers a little in the chill. The mattress moves as he gets up. 

“Rick?”

“Just turning up the heat for you.”

She smiles. “That you are.”

The bed dips as he sits down again, his hip pressing against her thigh, his hand warm and sure on her back as it plays over areas of tension, relaxing her. She moans with pleasure, and he continues for quite a while before telling her to brace herself. A second later, hot candle wax splashes a rapid track between her shoulder blades. She gasps as much in surprise as in pain, setting her back muscles against it even as her hips tell a different story as they grind against the bed. 

“Good girl,” he says, tracing an ice cube over the burning path of the liquid, kissing her goosebumps. “In the spirit of scientific enquiry, was it less painful on your back?”

She nods. “The skin is less sensitive there.”

“Noted.”

He cleans and salves the sore spots, and then goes back to massaging her. After a while, she registers that the areas he’s paying attention to have gotten lower, and his hand is occasionally invading her panties again, dipping between her buttocks.

“No, not there,” she says quietly.

“I thought we’d established that you have no say in this.”

“I want you in me.”

“I will be.”

“Please.”

“Lift your hips.”

“No, not for this.” 

His hands slide proprietorially under her hipbones, hauling her up enough for him to get a grip on the waistband of her panties and flannel trousers. Ignoring her protests, he pulls them down to mid-thigh, so that as well as being a little humiliating, their situation also restricts the movement of her legs.

“This is for resisting.” He spanks her, one, two, three times in quick succession. 

It hurts – not too badly, but enough that she needs to stifle a cry – she won’t give him the satisfaction of making a noise here – and writhe a bit. When the pain subsides, he releases the breath she’s been holding. His hand is on her ass immediately, rubbing and soothing.

“Lie still,” he says. There’s the sound of a package tearing and bottle opening, and he parts her buttocks. She squirms.

“I expect your full cooperation,” he says, sternly. “I’m going to check your temperature, make sure you’re not hypothermic.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not,” she says, but his middle finger – she knows it’s that one, it fills her so perfectly – is already sliding into her anus. Lubricant squelches obscenely as he pushes deeper and starts to twist his finger, pulling back to slip another one in. She makes a sharp keening noise, and comes again, every bit as hard as she had a short while ago. 

Suddenly she hears him grunt, and warm, wet spurts fall across her buttocks and back. He curses, apologizes, and she wishes she could reach back for him, to squeeze his hand and tell him it’s okay. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have delayed so long.”

“Not your fault, sweetheart.” He leans over her and kisses the back of her neck. “Just couldn’t resist the sight of you giving yourself to me like that. I... I’m still not accustomed to a gift like that.”

Her whole body is warmed by this, inside and out. “Kiss me.”

He does, and then pulls away. She hears him walk off, and return a minute later. A warm, wet cloth swipes over her skin, removing sticky traces. She really wants to do something for him now.

“Will you please uncuff me so that I can suck you clean?”

He frees her gently, and sits so that she can lie in his lap while he cradles her head and strokes her hair. She takes him into her mouth and indulges in the feel and taste of him. This is something she never wanted to do before he came along, but with him it feels so natural. It’s not long before he’s back in the game.

He rubs her shoulder. “Let me up, I have to get something from the bag.”

She remains face down, blindfolded, while he gets up and rummages around. She hears a foil packet open, and smiles. “Taking no chances this time, huh?”

“Best not.” 

The bed dips, and he kisses the back of her neck. His hands are at the back of her head, untying her tie-blindfold. She squints into the light, which he has dimmed. She tries to turn over, but he stays her with a firm hand on the back of her shoulder.

He crouches beside her so that she can see him, and smiles at her in a way that makes her want to hug him and fuck him all at the same time. He holds up her favourite toy, shining with lube. She moans.

“Can’t let you go through all the stress of getting this through airport security without a payoff, sweetheart.” He goes to the bottom of the bed, grabs the cuffs of her pyjama trousers, and pulls them down and off. “Spread your legs.”

She obeys, relaxing into it as the length of the flexible, beaded wand pushes against her, and with soothing words from him, slides high up into her anus. 

His hand jostles the protruding handle as he reaches under it to slip a finger or two into her entrance. She clamps down, trying to draw them deeper.

 _“Rick,”_ she says, her voice urgent and thick. She feels hazy with need, and, suddenly, thirst.

“You okay?”

“Water.”

His fingers withdraw, and moments later a bottle is pressed to her lips. She could hold it herself, but it feels good to let him do it for her. He rests his hand on her head while she drinks, stroking the hair out of her eyes with his thumb.

When she’s done, he puts the bottle on the bedside table and moves to the end of the bed. She scoots down there too. He reaches between her legs and draws the wand almost all the way out before pushing it all the way back in, so that she gets the benefit of the friction from each and every bead as the long black probe invades her.

“Now, Rick. _Now.”_

He bends her knees, legs towards her chest, tipping her back, opening her to him, and slips the head of his cock inside. She pushes herself up a little, watching him push in and pull out with more of her arousal glistening on his latex-covered cock each time. To watch and feel at the same time is almost more than she can bear, but she’s determined to hold out for him, to make this last.

Suddenly, he pulls out. Before she can protest, he reaches down to the wand and presses a button, starting a strong vibration deep in her ass. Her head lolls back, and she only raises it when she feels him kneel against her buttocks, and they both watch his cock disappear inside her again. 

They moan together now, both of them feeling the benefit of the tightness and the extra stimulation. He leans over her, strong arms either side of her chest as he begins to thrust in earnest. She holds him as though she’ll never let him go, and her head falls back again. She doesn’t know what kind of a sound she’s making, but he’s pumping frantically now. His mouth clamps down on hers, muffling their cries as they break apart together.

A short while later, they’re back in the tub, eating strawberries, watching the snow pile up on the window ledge.

“I’m not gonna make it back in the morning,” she sighs, and what little part of her is disturbed by this is quickly silenced by his kiss.


End file.
